


Hard Wired

by pleasanthell



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasanthell/pseuds/pleasanthell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a fortress built on an unstable foundation. All it took was one swift kick at the base of your psyche and it call came crumbling down. The worst part is that you know about it. You know that you're a mess. You know you're sliding down a slippery slope, but you won't stop. You cannot stop. You cannot lose her and right now, if you stop, you lose everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started out at as way to stay awake. You needed to find Shaw and you needed to stay awake to do that.

You had dropped Reese off with Harold a few days ago. The Machine wasn't helping you so you turned to your old ways, your previous life. Ruthless wouldn't be the word you used, but you've heard it enough times directed at yourself to know that it's not something you're not.

You're a fortress built on an unstable foundation. All it took was one swift kick at the base of your psyche and it call came crumbling down. The worst part is that you know about it. You know that you're a mess. You know you're sliding down a slippery slope, but you won't stop. You cannot stop. You cannot lose her and right now, if you stop, you lose everything.

At least The Machine has started helping, or what you think is helping. She sends you to seemingly random places that you know can't be all that random. You'll pick something up or drop it off. You'll question people for information that makes no sense to you, but you've never needed it to make sense. Except now you do. You need to know. You want to know what The Machine knows so you start keeping track of everything. You use the windows of the corner apartment you're staying in to gather information. You write things down with markers and post pictures. You keep files.

When you get some down time, you sit on your bed, just a mattress on the floor, and look at them. You're hungry. You don't remember the last time you've eaten. You also feel pull of the narcotics. It's like a hook in the back of your neck, pulling you toward the kitchen. You manage to ignore it and try to make sense of all the things you've written.

You rub your temples. It doesn't make sense. There are few tangible connections and nothing really seems to click together. You know it's part of The Machine's plan, but she is working too slowly for you. You never thought you'd think that, but now that Sameen's life hangs in the balance….You know she's alive. You're so sure. Just like you were sure The Machine was real and already running when you found Her.

You're going to find Shaw. You just need some more leads. You get up off of your mattress and move to the windowsill where your laptop is charging. You pick it up and walk to the kitchen, opening it as you go. Your computer immediately wakes from sleep, ready to assist you.

You hear a chirp in your ear. It's in a language that has somehow become yours and The Machine's. It's a strange mix of tones, beeps, pre-recorded words, and sounds. It's become like a second language to you. You understand her immediately and move to the refrigerator. There's not a lot to eat, but you grab small carton of milk. Then you retrieve some cereal from the counter. It's all mixed together in a bowl and you fetch a spoon. You use the spoon to sloppily scoop up the cereal and put it into your mouth, “Happy?”

As you eat, you can feel your body start to sag under the lack of sleep. You click around on your laptop while you stand in the bare kitchen. You shovel cereal into your mouth because you know if you don't, The Machine won't help. You eye the amphetamine you cooked up. It's waiting for you. It's calling you.

You made it yourself. It was easy enough with your skills and contacts. You didn't want to have to rob a hospital and you don't trust drug dealers. It also gave you the liberty to add a few things. It's the best combination of all things to keep you awake and functioning for as long as possible. You know you're going to have to sleep soon, but today is not that day.

Your errands for the day take you to New Jersey. You give a wayward teenager a good scare and then hand his older brother a gun. You don't ask The Machine why. You just do as you're told, all the while trying to connect the dots that will lead you to Shaw.

You've been up for three days straight when you see her. It was a flash of her in the corner of your eye. You take off running and turn the corner in the residential neighborhood to find that there was no one where. You're starting to think that maybe you have been awake for too long.

You look around one last time before making your way back to the train station.

You set your alarm to go off in six hours. You really don't feel like you could afford to sleep that long, but you know that your body is starting to break down. Almost the second your head hit the pillow, you fall into a deep exhausted sleep. Your limbs are heavy and there's no escaping sleep when you close your eyes.

Your alarm blares ad you definitely could have slept for a few more hours. But that's a few hours you're not trying to find Shaw.

You think you see her again in Times Square. There were so many people and you couldn’t get through the crowd before she disappeared. You're really starting to question your own sanity.

You're sure that all the hallucinations will stop if you just sleep until you're fully rested, but you can't. Your brain won't let you. Your heart won't let you. You have to keep moving. One foot in front of the other. One bullet after the other. One line of code under the other.

A few more days go by like a hazy dream. You only sleep when you know that you'll just stop functioning if you don't. The hallucinations get worse. You catch a glimpse of a familiar ponytail or a scowl on the lips that felt so right against yours. So you ask the Machine to tell you what's around you. She does what you ask. You think it might be because she's worried about you. You know she worries. She worries because she cares.

You can hear the computerize voice in your ear rattling off names and locations. It becomes soothing after a while. Soon they're not even words anymore. It's just a never ending stream of noise in your ear telling you that they're still standing.

They stop when you go to your apartment. You think that she might think you may be going to sleep.

You're not. You're getting close. You can feel it. You add a few notes to your windows and looked over the papers taped between all the words. You take a pill and stare at everything for a moment. The words start to swim in front of your eyes. You know that you're one really stressful hour from collapsing, but you need to know.

You take a shower to wake yourself up and then get dressed in clean clothes. As you're loading bullets into the magazine of your favorite gun, you glance up at the window and see it. The answer. You know where she is.

You don't think about backup until you've gunned down half of the operatives in the facility. “Hey John. You busy?”

“No, but it sounds like you are,” he says. You can hear him getting into a car. “Where are you, Root?”

He knows what you're doing. He knows that you know where she is. You rattle off an address and then hang up. You don't anticipate being able to carry Shaw out of the building. You're not even sure you're going to make it out on your own power.

You squeeze off more rounds, dropping operatives as you search the facility. The Machine has started talking to you. She warns you of danger and starts directing you. When she stops giving you directions, you smile and kick open the door to the room you're sure Shaw is in.

However, you find a server room the size of a warehouse. There is a bank of terminals, all logged on and waiting for you. You look behind you and know that she's in a different room. The Machine tells you twice to go to the terminals and you give in. This might be your last and only chance to shut down Samaritan for good.

You write line after line of code that's being whispered into your ear. A few times, the code seems to fight back, but eventually you do it. You execute and the servers all around you start to go off a few at a time.

You've done what she told you to do. Now it's time to find Shaw.

You reach the deepest, darkest part of the facility. There's a short dim hallway that looks like it's used as a small prison row. One of the doors is already ajar and you run to it, seeing that all the other cells are empty. You have a feeling, a strong feeling that it's Shaw's. You know it. You don't know why.

You throw the heavy door open and everything collapses down on top of you. It's empty. There's a blanket on the concrete floor between the cinder block walls. You slowly walk into the cell. You can hear the Machine talking to you again. It's time to leave. You need to leave. Get out of there. Leave.

You can't. You were sure. You were so sure. You sink down to the floor in the middle of the cell. Explosions rock the walls around you. You can hear yelling. You can smell the smoke.

You just stare at the blanket. It's blue and made of wool. It doesn't mean anything. The blanket is just there. You feel like you're underwater, staring at the surface.

The yelling is close. You're being pulled to your feet, but you can't stand. You just sat at the ground as you're shoved out of the cell. Your guns are taken from you. The Machine is telling you to punch. She's telling you to kick and fight. She's telling you that you _have got to fight_. But you can't.

Your fight is gone. You were so sure she was in there. You were sure. You were sure you were going to find her.

You can't even hold up your own head. Someone throws you over their shoulder and you catch a glimpse of a fire. You can smell men's cologne. It's unfamiliar and stings your nose. You squirm a little, knowing that the man who is carrying you works for Samaritan. Or what's left of Samaritan.

He tosses you roughly aside as gunfire starts and you hit your head on something hard. It doesn't feel much different than how you felt before. It just hurts. Everything is hazy. Everything is loud and everything hurts. You don't even try to get up. You don't try to roll over to see what's going on. You just lay there, wherever there is. You can't do it anymore. You can't hope anymore. It's crushing you.

You can feel heat growing closer to you. It's all around you. It's getting so hot, but you can't move. You can't.

You can feel yourself slowly fading out of consciousness. This wasn't the way you pictured you'd go, but it'll be quick. It could have been so much worse.

But you feel yourself being picked up once again. Being jostled around hurts your head even more. You can feel liquid on your face and it isn't a jump to assume it's your own blood. You want to tell whoever is moving you to stop. To leave you there. You're done fighting. You can't fight anymore. Your body can't fight anymore. Your mind can't fight anymore. Your heart can't.

The air gets cleaner as you move and your ability to stay awake weakens. You manage to open your eyes for a brief second only to see that you're outside. The building is completely engulfed in flames. A panicked thought races through your mind. Shaw might still be inside.

You halfheartedly protest, but once you stopped moving, your muscles went into hibernation. You manage to mumble out, “Sameen,” before you pass out.

When you wake up, you're in your apartment. You're on the mattress and light is coming in all around you. You're warm. There's a blanket on top of you.

There's a pull in your stomach. You need a pill. You heave yourself up off of your mattress. You wonder how John found your apartment. You haven't exactly been the most talkative person lately. Not that you were ever forthcoming about where you lived. Just like John and Sam, you have never trust anyone to know where you sleep.

You stumble weakly to the kitchen and get a glass of water. One synthesized pill and you'll be good to go. But you don't know where you'll go. You realize that your clothes have changed. You're in black lounge pants and a tank top. You shake your head. You really need to have a talk with John about boundaries. You feel an abnormality in your head and know that you have a new row of stitches without having to look at it.

You move with your water to the bag of pills on your counter. But when you reach for it, it's gone. A sudden panic arises in you. You pull open the drawers to see if you put it away without realizing it. You look in all the cabinets, the refrigerator, and the oven. You move to the bathroom to look in the medicine cabinet. You're closing the medicine cabinet where you see the empty plastic bag that used to contain them next to the toilet.

You snatch up the bag seeing the white powder inside, telling you that it did, in fact, once contain the pills it took you so long to make. You angrily toss the bag aside and stalk into the living room. You move to your closet off of the living room where your mattress is when you realize there's way too much light in your living room. You whip around and see that everything is gone. All your writing has been cleaned off of the windows. All the papers are gone.

The next thing you know, you're in the subway. You shove John back onto a bench while Harold yells at you to stop.

“What did you do?!” You yell at him. You're not a yeller, but you're so goddamn upset. He got rid of it. He got rid of everything.

Except the look on his face tells you that he's not only surprised by your accusations, but also that you're alive.

You don't give him time to explain. Your head is spinning and you're starting to feel sick. You need something to make it stop. You know where to go. The Machine has started telling you what's around you. Maybe you're hallucinating now and you don't know it. You know the symptoms of withdrawal. You have to get a fix quick. Then you have to start from scratch.

You find it so difficult to keep moving though. You're tired. You're actually exhausted. You slide up to a dealer and offer him all the money you have on you for everything he has. He's more than happy to accept.

You can hear The Machine in your ear, telling you his name. She tells you the cars on the streets and the trees you walk past. She tells you the names of the people on the street and one of them stops you in your tracks. “What was that?” you ask.

She says it again and you quickly look around. “Are you sure?” It's a dumb question, but you have to ask because you don't see her.

The Machine doesn't answer. It seems indignant to you. She's an artificial super intelligence. She shouldn't have to repeat herself.

But maybe the lack of reassurance meant that Shaw wasn't really there or that she disappeared. Maybe you're having auditory hallucinations. You keep the baggie of pills in your pocket, but manage to get one pill out. You dry swallow it as you walk. You know immediately that it's not as pure as what you made. You knew it wouldn't be.

But you start to feel the adverse effects as you start beating down doors. You feel sick. But you keep going. You run the high into the ground a few hours later. You're taking a shortcut down on alley when you hear someone step into a puddle right behind you. Before you can turn around you feel a shock travel through your body before everything goes black.

This time when you wake up you feel wretched. You're nauseous. Your head hurts. You're tired. You're so tired. And you're starving.

You know you're on a bed, but that is the extent of what you know because none of it feels familiar.

You slowly open your eyes, squinting at the light coming in the windows. It hurts your head. You grab a pillow and pull it over your face. A deep breath makes all of your sense pique. You slowly sit up and move the pillow. You're not in your bed. You're not in your apartment. You're in another apartment. A very familiar apartment.

The first thing you spot are your pills on the nightstand in a small plastic bag. You reach for it before a gunshot goes off. You immediately retract your hand, seeing that a bullet ripped through the nightstand a few inches from where your hand was. You turn wide eyed toward the source of the bullet.

Shaw is sitting in a wooden chair at a wooden table. Her feet are propped up on the table. She has a gun in her right hand and a sandwich in the other. She's wearing a white tank top and black pants, her hair back in it's usual low ponytail. She looks thoroughly unamused with you. “You wanna try again?”

You licked you lips and look at the pills. All of the sudden you feel immensely guilty for using them as a crutch. You put your guilt on pause to look at Shaw. It all makes sense when you give it a moment. “You pulled me out of the fire and took me home.”

“And flushed all your pills down the toilet,” Shaw kicks her feet off of the desk and they land heavily on the floor. She puts her gun down and picks up the other half of her sandwich from it's place on the table. She walks over to you, placing the sandwich on the nightstand next to the pills.

She continues moving to the window, leaning back on the sill to continue eating her half of the sandwich. You pick up the sandwich, conflicted about eating it. You're hungry, but nauseous.

“You'll feel better after you eat,” Shaw offers with a mouthful, “Then you're going to feel like shit. You're going to get fatigued, but you won't be able to sleep. You'll have nightmares when you do sleep. You'll be hungry all the time. But it'll only last for a few days.”

You sigh softly. You never really thought past finding Shaw. You had blinders on and anything that you could have done you would have done to get her back. Even if it meant a slight amphetamine addiction.

So you pick up the sandwich in front of you and ask before taking a bite, “Did you set the explosion?”

Shaw nods. “They kept me locked up for a few weeks. Turnabout is fair play.” She finishes off her sandwich.

“Three weeks, four days, and sixteen hours,” You answer softly, wishing you didn't know exactly how long she'd been gone. You take a deep breath then another bite of your sandwich. You thoughtfully chew for a moment and then ask, “Did I even help you escape at all?”

Shaw lets out a small, self-satisfied smile, “I have been waiting for a distraction for a few days. You did it.”

“Good to know,” You point to your head, “You did this?”

“Like Harold or John could suture that well,” Shaw crosses her arms.

“Thanks,” Your eyes flicker to the pills on the nightstand. You can still feel the pull – the need. You think about reaching for them, but remember that Shaw is not afraid to shoot you through the hand. You look at Shaw. She's watching you and you know she saw you look at the pills. You swallow and look guiltily away. You hate disappointing people. You hate disappointing Sameen the most.

You quickly finish your sandwich and slip out of the bed. You're back in sweatpants and a tank top, but this time the sweatpants are a little too short and the muscle shirt has obviously been worn multiple times by someone with more upper body muscles than you. You can feel Shaw watching you so you explain, “I'm gonna go.”

“How many hours did you sleep these past few weeks?” Shaw asks, not moving.

You find your clothes on her dining table and walk over to them. “I don't know.”

“You look like crap,” Shaw adds.

You look up at her, ready to return the verbal slap, but she doesn't actually look bad at all. You look down at your clothes, “Not all of us can look as good as you on so little sleep.”

She lets you get dressed. You don't look over at her, because you want to make as quick of an exit as possible. You start to walk over tot he nightstand, but her words stop you, “Those stay here.”

“I don't need your help,” you whirl around, but too quickly for your ailing head. You waver for a moment before looking at her.

She's back to looking pissed, “You don't?”

“No,” you snap and turn back to the nightstand.

“I will shoot you,” you hear the click of a gun safety going into the off position.

You stop moving and bow your head, “Why does it matter?”

“Because I didn't save your life for you to become a junkie,” Shaw's feet hit the ground behind you. You can feel her walking toward you, so you steel yourself and turn around.

You don't know what to say to that because it shoots a dagger right between your ribs. You disappointed her more than you could have ever imagined. You fight tears because that's weakness. You shake your head and turn away. “I'll just go.”

“Root,” Shaw easily strides to catch up with you catching your arm. When she turns you around, you see that she's softened a little. “You should stay here. The next few days are going to be rough for you.”

You let out a tiny smile because despite the terrible feelings floating around inside of your body, she cares. You call her out on it because you like to tease her and maybe she'll let you leave to prove her point that she doesn't care. “I didn't know you cared, Sameen.”

She just holds your eyes. She doesn't say anything and you think that says more than she ever could with words. She does care and she's done denying it. She jerks her head toward the back the apartment, “Go take a shower. It'll help your head.”

You can't even bring yourself to tease her. She's handling this way better than you imagined. You didn't think she'd be so supportive. You bite your bottom lip. You feel guilt wash over you again. You weren't the person you should have been while you were trying to find her. You were weak. You swallow and look away, “I-I'm sorry.”

She shrugs, “You don't have to be sorry.”

“I should have been,” you can't really think of a words to describe what you should have done. You should have been smarter and stronger. You should have been faster. “I should have been better.”

“Hey, I'm out now and you did something to Samaritan that completely stopped everything,” Shaw assures you. You can see her hands twitch at her sides like she doesn't know what to do with them. Her fists clench and eventually she looks away from you. She starts walking toward the back of the apartment. She pushes her bangs out of her eyes as she moves, “I have a gross amount of shampoos and soaps from that terrible job you put me in. They're all under the sink.”

“Thanks, Sam,” you softly expel on a breath. Maybe a shower will help you clear your head.

It does feel nice. It helps your head and you feel a lot better when you get out. When you open the glass shower door, you find that Shaw put some clean clothes on the counter next to the sink. You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time in a long time. You do look like crap. There are dark circles under your eyes. You've lost weight. Your hair doesn't have it's usual bounce.

You lean on the counter for a moment. You give yourself a small moment of revelry. Shaw is okay. She's safe and she's in her apartment shooting at you. Things could definitely have turned out a lot worse.

You pull on the clothes she gave you and then shuffle out of the bathroom. You're so tired. You just want to crawl back into the bed and sleep for a week. But Shaw warned you of the nightmares. You've been having intermittent nightmares already. You can't imagine what they're be like when your body is revolting against you.

When you step outside of the bathroom, Shaw tosses something at you. You barely manage to grab it after it bounces off of your chest. You look down at the pills in the bag in your hand. You swallow. It would be so easy to just open the bag and put one in your mouth. You wouldn't hurt. You wouldn't be tired. But you look up at Shaw, sitting on the wooden table she uses for gun maintenance. She's watching you and this time there isn't the threat of a gun in her hand.

You turn the bag over in your hand. You open the bag and take a deep breath. You can feel Shaw's eyes on you. You pour out the pills into your hand. You could take two or three easily.

But you don't. You pivot on your heel, back into the bathroom. You tilt your hand, dropping the pills into the toilet. You flush them down, watching them swirl around in the bowl. You feel sick to your stomach because you know that you don't have them anymore. You don't have that crutch. You're tired and it's all your fault.

When you step out of the bathroom, you look up at Shaw for approval. She nods slowly and the look in her eyes is pride. You smile softly. It feels good that she's proud of you.

You took a deep breath, “What happens now?”

“You sleep,” Shaw gestures to her bed.

“Are you-” You pause. You don't feel like it is a question you have the right to ask her.

But she answers, even though you don't finish the question, “I'll be here.”

“Do you want me to call John?” you ask, with a slight smile as you move to the bed, “I bet I can get him to bring Bear over.”

“Just get in bed,” Shaw slides to her feet and walks to the kitchen table. She sits down and opens her laptop, propping her feet up on the table.

You fall lightly into the bed and pull the blankets around you. They all smell like Shaw and it gives you a sense of safety. You're okay. You're warm and Shaw is alive.

But she doesn't fair so well in your dreams. You have nightmares where you watch her die over and over again in ways that you have killed before. You can't ever seem to stop it. You just see it happen. You can feel terror course through your veins, taking over your body, and invading your heart.

“Root,” she finally manages to wake you up.

Your eyes pop open and you start to sit up, but she pushes you back onto the bed. It's dark in the apartment, save for the light coming in the bare windows from the street below. You're sweating and panting with her strong, firm hands on your shoulders.

You can feel your face wet with tears. You must have been crying in your sleep. You're embarrassed and quickly roll away from Shaw. Once your back is turned to her, you wipe your eyes. You sniffle, “I'm sorry.”

“You were calling me,” Shaw offers quietly, not disturbing the still of the night. You can feel her sitting on the bed behind you.

You duck your head and run your hands through your hair. You just need a minute to regroup. You stand, walking in a small circle next to the bed. A shaky breath escapes your lips, “I'm fine.”

She just sits on the bed watching you. You know she doesn't handle comforting people well. You don't need her to though. You're sure you've got it under control. Your heartbeat has leveled out. You've cooled off. You're okay.

You rub your eyes. You're tired, but you're more hungry. You look at the bed and see her sitting there, waiting for you to say or do something. You gesture to the door, “Do you want to go get something to eat?”

She nods.

You get dressed in your clothes and she pulls on some boots. You both walk together down the street to a diner that's open twenty four hours a day. You both sit in a booth across from each other. She sits sideways, her back to the wall. Her legs extend across the blue vinyl seat.

You let her order first and then double it. You're really hungry. You don't care what you're eating, you just need food.

Your hands are around your coffee. You feel a little woozy. You don't know if you should drink it or not. It might make you jittery or nauseous. But it might make you feel awake enough to be a human. “How much longer is this going to go on?”

Shaw shrugs, “A few days.” She looks over your face, “You look better than you did yesterday.”

You realize that you don't actually know what time it is. You reach into your pocket and find your phone. It's almost three in the morning, “I'm sorry to have drug you out so early like this.” You really are sorry. This is all because of your weakness. Apparently, Shaw means more to you than you initially thought.

“It's not the first time,” she assures you.

“Do John and Harold know you're out?” you have to ask because you have no idea. You would have thought that Bear would have been Shaw's first stop when she left Samaritan.

Shaw shakes her head. She looks down at her lap and then over at you. “Not yet.”

“Was John there?” you weakly ask, knowing that you were so far out of it, you probably shouldn't have been handling a gun.

Shaw nods, looking out the windows at the street, “He didn't make it into the building before the explosion, but he took out a few ops so I could get you out.”

“He didn't see you?”

She shakes her head. “He knows you're alive though. I made sure of that.”

You don't want to know how she did that. You don't want to hear anymore about a battle you were too weak to finish. You swallow. You finally give in a take a sip of the coffee. “When are you going to tell them?”

“A few days,” she answers vaguely.

You have a feeling that her not going in has a lot to do with you not being presentable to the general public. You deflate a little bit. “You should go see them. They're worried.”

Shaw looks over at you. Then she uses her eyes to dismiss the suggestion. The food arrives at just the right moment so you don't push it. You're too hungry to.

You match Shaw bite for bite and she seems impressed. When you're done, there is a litter of empty plates on the table. You sit back and smile. You feel a lot better than you have in days.

“Better?” Shaw asks, looking across the table at you as she finishes her coffee.

You nod.

Shaw drops some money on the table and grabs her jacket. “Good.”

When you get back to Shaw's apartment, you change and lay down again. She seems tired so you stick to one side of the bed, even going so far as to put a pillow barricade down the middle of the bed. You face away from your pillow DMZ and close your eyes.

She lays down as you slip into sleep. Of course your sleep is wrought with nightmares. You watch her die again and again. You feel your heart breaking and it tears you apart.

Your eyes fly open. Dawn is starting to break over New York City. You let your heart start beating in a semi-normal rhythm and sigh deeply. You can feel the pillows behind you moving around. You feel bad that you woke Shaw up, but when her body presses against your back and her arm slips around your waist you don't know what to think.

“Sam,” you whisper.

She mumbles so close to your neck that you can feel her breath, “Physical contact has been proven to reduce the occurrences, length, and severity of dreams in some cases.”

You smile. You know that intimate personal contact isn't something Shaw particularly likes, but you know she's doing it for you. “You don't have to-”

“'M sleeping,” she grumbles and holds you tighter around your waist.

You tuck your hands under your pillow and close your eyes. You can't stop a smile. Shaw cares about your enough to put her comfort aside so that you can sleep. You relax under her arm, drifting off to sleep.

The nightmares comes, but less frequent. You can actually move around in them. You're not just watching a movie about Shaw being slaughtered. You wake up tense, but not in a fearful fit. It is in the middle of a tidal wave of nausea.

It's the middle of the day and Shaw is still asleep behind you, still holding you. You would smile again if it weren't for the riot in your stomach. You decide that the best way to keep it down is a shower. Once the door clicks closed, you duck your head under the warm water. It feels so good and does do wonders soothing your stomach. Other than the nausea, you feel a lot better. You still have the craving inside of you, but it's taken a backseat to how hungry you are and how much you want to go back to bed. You know that your symptoms could have been worse. It was probably a good thing that you manufactured your own drugs so they weren't cut with anything.

You use one of the shampoos that Shaw stole from her old job. It has the softest smell and is pleasant to your oversensitive sense of smell. You find a new razor When the water goes off, you wring your hair out.

There are clothes on the counter when you get out of the shower. They're shorts and a zip up hoodie. After you're dressed, you step out of the bathroom to an empty apartment. You go straight to the refrigerator, but are not surprise to find that there is nothing edible inside of it.

The door opens when you're closing the fridge. You turn around and see Shaw step in with a white paper bag in her hand and a tray of coffee in the other. “I got breakfast tacos.”

You smile, “Thank you.”

She sets it down on the table and you both sit down. As you're eating with one hand, she picks up your other hand. Her fingers find your pulse and she looks at her watch. For someone so rough around the edges, her fingers are gentle.

When she takes her hand back, you smile at her, “How is it, Doctor?”

“Better than I expected,” Shaw takes a bite of her food.

“I aim to please,” you grin, finishing your first taco. You reach for another one and unwrap it. As you're sinking your teeth into the delicious, delicious food, there's a beep in your ear. You cock your head like it helps you listen better. It doesn't. It's just a habit.

“Can I borrow a gun?” you ask Shaw.

Shaw shakes her head, “Tell me. I'll go.”

“Sameen,” you slouch a little, but smile because it's another small way she's showing that she cares, “I'm fine.” You take your taco with you as she walk to Shaw's closet, “Take the day off. Go see Bear. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you really?” Shaw asks evenly.

You stop cold. That hurt. You duck your head and look at her over your shoulder, flipping your hair out of your face. She looks like she's about to apologize, but you speak first, “I messed up. But I can't keep hiding out here. Samaritan is momentarily crippled, but if we don't keep hitting it, it will just keep coming back.” You keep moving to the closet. Just a glance inside tells you that all of her pants are too short for you. You finish your breakfast taco and find your boots under the bed, “I have to go home and change.”

“I'm coming with you,” Shaw states, standing from the table. She grabs her coffee and a gun.

Normally, you wouldn't mind, but it's starting to feel like she thinks you're on the brink of relapse. You might be, but that doesn't mean you want her hovering over your like an injured puppy.

It's a quick walk to your apartment and once you're changed, you feel a little bit more like yourself again. You're grabbing a gun out of your kitchen cabinet when you look toward Shaw. She's standing in front of your windows, looking out over the city.

“Why did you erase everything?” you ask her, “All the writing on the windows.”

Shaw turns around to look at you, “You didn't need it anymore.”

“How do you know?” you ask back. “It could have been for a number.”

“I recognized some of the names from what I overheard,” she turns away from you and looks out the window, “From what I can tell, you did something to the head of security, killed him or had him killed. The guard rotation changed and you attacked in the middle of a shift change.”

You resume packing your gun away into the back of your pants and grab your coat off of the mattress on the floor. You don't want to tell her that you barely remember the past two weeks. You walk to the door, “You know that most of the time I don't know why I'm doing what she tells me to do.”

Shaw doesn't question you. She just follows you out the door. Your trek to the theatre district takes you to a prop warehouse. Shaw creeps behind you, both of you quietly moving. “This is different.”

You touch a prop candelabra. It's pretty and you think you might take it with you when you leave. Your apartment needs something that's not a mattress in the middle of the floor. You follow the Machine's direction to the catwalk. You witness a run of the mill argument on the stage between a man in a grey suit and a man in all black.

The man in the suit pulls a gun. You look over at Shaw who is already aiming. She shoots him in the kneecap and then you two quietly disappear, joining the crowd on the sidewalk in front of the theatre.

You try to cover up a yawn. You know detoxing means that you're going to be excessively tired, but it's getting irritating how much you need to sleep. You could just make some more amphetamine and … You won't though. You need to be on your game if you're going to deliver the death blow to Samaritan.

“I need a computer,” you announce as you're walking.

“There's one in your ear,” Shaw snarks. You can feel her looking you over making sure that nothing is amiss.

You do smile at her sass though. “I need a broken computer. I need to go see someone who moonlights in laptop repair.”

“What's their day job?” Shaw asks, her eyes moving from you to the crowd around you.

You stop at an entrance to the subway hideout, “Samaritan IT.”

“Samaritan not pay enough?” she walks past you into the entrance.

“She does it for the love of the work,” you offer as the Machine tells you, “And because she takes data off of the computers to steal identities and fund a secret to Samaritan team of physicists and engineers who are trying to build a quantum processor. Which will make whichever AI owns it significantly faster and more powerful.”

“And we're going to steal it,” Shaw finishes for you.

“It won't be done just yet,” you open the door behind the candy machine for Shaw. As she steps in, you reach behind the glass of the fake door and grab two bags of chips, “But in the meantime, I need to visit the head of Samaritan IT in her Brooklyn office after I falsify a complete identity on one of Harold's computers.” You hand a bag of chips to Shaw and close the door behind you.

You both munch away as you walk down the stairs and when you pop out on the other side, Bear is already running toward you. You smile when Shaw kneels down to accept a face full of kisses from Bear. Harold steps out of the subway car and sees Shaw. He looks at you with disbelief. You just smile at him. He should have known you wouldn't stop until you found her.

Reese walks out of the small bed area and you step into the subway car. You need to get to work. They can have their reunion while you're creating a new identity. You find a blank laptop in the cabinet under Harold's work station. You take it to the desk outside and sit down in the chair.

Shaw and Reese are talking while Shaw pets Bear. You find Harold walking toward you, “You dealt a powerful blow to Samaritan.”

“And The Machine is about to finish it,” you answer looking up at Harold. You open the laptop and boot it up. “I'm going to borrow this with a large possibility of not retuning it.”

“Can I help you?” Harold asks.

You nod, “I need a cyber trail for a new identity.”

He starts moving away, but stops. He slowly turns around, looking at you through his glasses, “You found her.”

“She found me,” you answer cryptically.

He gives you a small, tight lipped smile. He nods to you, “I never should have doubted you, Ms. Groves.”

You swallow the response that tells the truth, that you doubted yourself for a while. You just offer a forced smile and a nod. It gets him moving again.

You bury yourself in creating a new identity. You give birth to a person with a family, a home, a past. You always make sure your identities lived better lives that you did. They all have a lot of friends and a long term significant other. You create a credit history that took a dive after college, but was rebuilt in the years following because of a stable job. It all had to make sense. It all had to blend seamlessly with reality.

That's how you feel sometimes. Like someone just made you up and you're trying to blend into reality as best you can. A lot of times, your life doesn't feel like you're living it on the same plane as everyone else.

Your eyes flicker up at Shaw. But sometimes it feels like she's living on your plane as well.

She looks back at you and you try to look away before you can hold her eyes. You know she saw you though so you look back. She hitches her chin at you in a silent question. _How do you feel?_

She shrug. Detox isn't a walk in the park, but if you had picked some other drug, it could have been a lot worse. You turn away from Shaw and get back to work. It's very time consuming creating a person.

You stifle a yawn an hour into making a fake person. The programs you wrote to run through a number of harmless and only slightly related websites, it's trolling along so you lean back in your chair. You put your hands over your eyes. It's only a second later that you can feel her standing behind you.

“I'm just tired,” you answer quietly, not moving your hands.

“You can bring that back to my place,” Shaw offers, “We can get some food and take a nap.”

You swallow. You don't know how you feel about overprotective Shaw. You've dealt with protective Shaw before, but hovering sober companion Shaw is a strange experience. But something inside of you can't resist the idea of taking a nap with Shaw. It seems like such an intimate thing to do and it's a vulnerable position that Shaw puts herself in around someone who has physically hurt her before.

You feel, though, that you're not in a place to argue with your body. You close the laptop, “Fine.”

The two of you say goodbye to Harold and Reese. It doesn't take much convincing for Harold to let Shaw take Bear. Honestly, none of you have seen Bear this happy in weeks.

You get some burgers on the way back to Shaw's apartment. You ate on the way into the apartment building and finish off your burger before you're fully into the apartment. You toss the wrapper into the trash can and start disrobing. You lay in the bed in your underwear not caring how exposed you are. You're so damn tired. You're tired of being tired.

You open up the laptop and place it on the floor so that the programs can keep running while you sleep.

Bear hops up on the bed behind you, walking in a circle before he lays down. You smile against your pillow. Instead of facing away from him, you roll over and stroke his fur. You haven't been around much to see him either. You scratch behind his ear, then down his chin. “You're a good boy.”

Shaw walks to the bed, having stripped down to her tank top and underwear. She lays down on her stomach. She rubs Bear's belly and he rolls onto his back. You take your hand back, letting them have a moment that you know Shaw needs.

You stretch your back, slowly moving your arms under your pillow. “How much longer am I going to be tired like this?” you ask Shaw, dropping your face into the pillow.

“Not much longer,” she answers, laying down with her hand on Bear. He stretches out between you and although you miss Shaw's arm around your waist, you know that it'll be easier to sneak out that way.

You feel Shaw move around on the bed. Her hand brushes against your arm when she reached for your wrist over Bear. You limply let her take control of your arms. Her fingers are warm on your pulse. For some reason, it reminds you of when she was holding you. She so kind for someone who has a hard time empathizing.

When she lets go of your wrist, you tuck our hand under you pillow, “Still good?”

“Yeah,” is her only answer. You can feel her settle into the bed behind you. You close your eyes, timidly walking into sleep because what has been lurking in your dreams has not been anything nice.

You jerk awake from a nightmare. You look around the apartment to find it empty. For a second you panic. Maybe finding Shaw was just a dream. Maybe you're still in a drug addled haze. Maybe….

You reach over to touch the other side of the bed. It's cold. Tears spill out of your eyes. You know you're not being rational. You know that logically, Shaw had to take Bear for a walk, but that doesn't stop the overwhelming fear from breaking out of your chest and crawling all over your body.

It hurts to breathe. You wipe the tears away from your face, but they keep coming. You get up out of the bed, stepping over the laptop you placed there – further proof that you're freaking out for no reason.

You don't know what it is, but you can't stop it.

You walk to the shower and turn it on, taking off your clothes with shaky hands. The feeling of not being able to breathe is getting worse. It feels like someone is pressing down on your chest in short rhythmic beats and you only have a half a second at a time to inhale before it's forced out of you.

It doesn't feel any better under the water. It all gets too overwhelming and you sink to your knees before falling back against the wall. You pull your knees to your chest and try to hide because it's all too much.

From the cave deep inside your head, your hear someone calling you. You close your eyes tight because you want to be able to hear them, but it sounds foggy and far away.

You can feel yourself being lifted up and carried away. She's telling you to breathe.

You close your eyes and do what she says. You take deep breaths while she sets you on her bed. You open your eyes and see her return with a towel. She dries you off starting with your shoulder all the way down you arm, all the while telling you to breathe.

The weight on your chest slowly lessens and you can breathe again. You wipe your face with the back of your hand. You look down at Shaw who as moved to drying your legs. Once you're dry, she picks up her blanket and puts it around your shoulders, closing it protectively in front of you. She kneels down in front of you. Her eyes meet yours and you see concern. “Are you okay?”

No. The answer is no. You're not okay. You can't sleep without nightmares. You're hungry all the time. Your brain is trying to rebalance itself by sending you off the deep end. You're not okay. But you did it to yourself. You made the drugs because you couldn't handle the thought of losing Sameen.

Of course, you've turning into what you're sure is her worst nightmare. You're an emotional wreck. She feels like she has to follow you around so that you don't relapse. She thinks you're weak.

When you don't answer, she stands up. She gets a bottle of water from the table. She opens it and gives it to you.

You take a long cool drink and then hand the bottle back. She closes it and set it down on the floor.

You don't feel like you can hold your head up anymore. You feel like you let Shaw down.

“John needed Bear for something,” Shaw adds quietly, “but I got food on the way back if you're hungry.”

You don't want her to explain why she was gone. She wouldn't have before. If you asked where she went, you were lucky to get the word “out”, but now she's walking on eggshells around you.

You lick your lips before standing. She moves out of the way for you to go to the bathroom. You get dressed, then step out toweling your hair.

She stands, “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere else,” you shake your head.

She frowns and you can see old Shaw in front of your, glaring out at you, “Did I offend you?”

“Yes,” you toss the towel onto her headboard.

She looks bewildered and then pissed, “How, Root? How did I offend you?”

Your rub your face. You're so frustrated with yourself for not being able to find the words to explain it. Deep, deep down you know you're probably having some kind of mood swing in reaction to your detox. You knew it was going too nicely.

You shake your head, “I don't know.” You want to curl back into a ball in the shower until the confusion passes, but a beep in your ear tells you that you can't. You sigh softly, “I'm sorry. I have to go.”

Shaw still looks angry, but she picks up your coat. “I can go with you or I can follow you.”

You nod slowly. You know there's not way for you to shake her, not in the condition you're in. You accept your coat and shrug it on. You pick up the laptop on the floor. A glance at the screen tells you that all the programs you ran finished and deleted themselves. You close the laptop. “Let's go.”

The silence between the two of your is dense and awkward. Even when you steal a Porsche, she doesn't say anything. You let her drive because you don't care and put the address of the shop into the GPS. She pulls to a stop down the street. You take off your seatbelt, “Wait here.”

It's always difficult for you to pretend to be bad with computers. You can pretend to be anything else, but it pains you to say the wrong words and ask stupid questions. But the woman is understanding. You think it has more to do with the expensive laptop you brought in than her actually caring about your need for a new wireless card.

She runs her hand through her short blonde hair, “I can get this back to you in a couple days.”

You shrug with a smile, “Take your time. I have a desktop at home, I can work from.”

“Alright,” she closes your laptop and hands you a receipt for it. “Come pick it up anytime after Thursday.”

“Thank you so much,” you pocket the receipt and step out of the door.

You find Shaw sitting in the car eating a hotdog. She hands you one when you sit down. You're thankful for it. She doesn't start the car while you both eat. You see only one drink between you and don't hesitate to take a sip between bites. For the first time she doesn't wipe off the straw before she drinks after you.

“I'm sorry about earlier,” you quietly tell her. You look out the window so you don't see the look on her face. You don't want to know her reaction, “I think it was just a mood swing or something.”

She's quiet and you can't stand not knowing her reaction anymore. She's just watching people walk by on the sidewalk. She wads up the paper hotdog wrapper and tosses it in the backseat. She turns to you, her eyes studiously mapping your face. You just swallow under the gaze. She holds her hand out, palm up.

You place your wrist in her hand, knowing what she's going to do. She presses her fingers against your pulse and looks at her watch. You think that maybe this is her way of saying that she still cares even though you're a hot mess at the moment.

“How are you going to find that processor?” she asks when she gently places your hand into your own lap. She starts the car and drives off.

“There's a worm on the laptop I gave her,” you answer, “It will jump from the computer to the closest wireless device and then keep jumping from phone to phone.” You take your phone out, “As soon as we find out where the processor is and when it'll be finished, we'll steal it.”

“I'm sure that is not as easy as it sounds,” Shaw glances over at you.

You smile, “No. It probably won't be.” You look out the window, “Do you want to go see if John needs help?”

She guns past a slow cab and slips in between a bus and a mini-van. She downshifts, “Does John need help?”

You relay the question to The Machine who tells you that he's currently walking Bear in Central Park and there doesn't seem to be any trouble around him. “I guess not.” You tap your fingers on the window. Surprisingly, you don't feel tired or hungry. You're not sure what you want to do. You don't suppose there's anything for you to do except monitor the phones of the Samaritan IT crew.

You and Shaw leave the Porsche right where you stole it. Then you walk down the street to the super secret subway entrance.

You sit down at the computer and Shaw disappears into the subway train to look at the weapons or whatever she does while she's in there. You lean back in your chair, watching the texts from the Samaritan people pop up on the screen. You watch them call each other. You smile when one of them uses an app to order food. Even bad guys have to eat too. You make a note of the address that the food is being sent to and then turn back to the texts.

You lean on the desk, looking more closely at the screen. “Just a few more hops to Greer's phone I bet.” You bet that would be interesting – Samaritan's biggest pawn.

You're mostly watching the texts because there's nothing else to do. The Machine is more than capable of monitoring the texts, their locations, and destinations, but it gives you something to do.

After a few of the operatives send each other encrypted texts, you start a decryption program on them. It'll give you a few minutes to go check on Shaw. You really just want to see if she's mad at you. You can handle her being annoyed at you, but you can't stand the idea of her being mad at you.

You lean forward on the door of the subway looking at Shaw. She's taking everything out of the lockers and reorganizing. When she sees you out of the corner of her eye, she says, “I'm gone for a few days and everyone decides to put their guns back wherever they feel like it.”

You smile softly, watching her with an annoyed look on her face. “Do you need help?”

She shakes her head and huffs, “I got it.”

You nod slowly, “Okay.” You linger a little bit. You feel like you need to apologize again, but you swallow it, leaving Shaw to her meticulous organization of the weapons. You find it amusing that she can't stand for guns from different manufacturers to be in the same locker, but you've never seen her bed made.

You shuffle back to the computer and sit down again. You can feel the pull of the drugs again. You close your eyes and think about exactly how you made it. You can see the glass beakers and the chemicals. You can smell it. It smelled terrible, but once it was done, you have a bag of tiny little helpers that would carry you through every night on your question to find Shaw.

You shake your head. Those are probably not good thoughts to have when you're trying to maintain your sobriety. Your eyes move to the screen. Your program found an algorithm that breaks the encryption. It's slowly saving all the encrypted texts in groups so you can read them easier.

You pull up a map of where the phones are located.

“Why didn't we do this before?” You jump when Shaw speaks right behind you. You were so busy focusing on the map so that you weren't focusing on your craving that you didn't hear her move. You run a hand through your hair.

“We didn't do it before because Samaritan was running at one hundred percent and all their focus was on finding us,” you explain. You swivel around to look at her, “Now they're trying repair the damage that we caused with less operatives than they're used to.” You zoom in on the map.

“So we get this processor thing,” Shaw leaned on the table next to you, “Install it into The Machine and then….The Machine crushes Samaritan with it's superior power?”

“Something like that,” you grin. You have waited a long time to see what The Machine looks like. You can't imagine where she is or what she looks like. It's probable that Harold wouldn't even be able to recognize her. She's constantly evolving and changing things. You smile wistfully thinking about how she's been taking care of herself.

Installing that processor is going to be nothing short of a spiritual experience for you.

You look up at Shaw who is looking at you with a diagnostician's look on her face. You know she thinks that you're having some kind of withdrawal symptom, but you tell her that it isn't. “After we get this processor, I might finally get to see her.”

Shaw holds your eyes. “Do you really want to do that? What if you meet God and she's not what you expected?”

“There's no way for me to expect anything,” you shake your head. She tilt your head back to shake the hair out of your face. There is nothing for you to expect because you have no earthly idea what she looks like. She could be a warehouse full of the latest top of the line servers or she could be a single laptop sitting in a basement, operating in small parts of thousands of remote servers around the world.

Shaw looks a little worried and you smile at her, “It's her decision who installs the processor. If it's not me, it's not me and that's okay.”

A surprised look washes over Shaw's face. Then she nods, “You'd really be okay with that?”

“You don't get to go inside of a lady without her permission,” you grin impishly at Shaw. When she rolls her eyes, you stand up and move to the small apartment that Harold has made in the subway. It's basically a college dorm with a twin bed and a mini-fridge. You get a water out of the fridge.

You lean on the divider that the bed is pressed up against. You look at Shaw, sitting on the desk, obviously bored. You smile, thinking of a very fun way you two could kill some time. You're not sure Shaw would be on board, but you think about it long enough that when she looks at you, you have to look away.

“How long do you think it'll take them to finish?” she asks you, instead of calling you out on your leering.

You push off of the wall, moving back toward the desk she's sitting on. You fall back on the chair and recline. After a drink of water, you open the drawer, “It could be hours or it could be days.” You move around Harold's extra glasses cases and find one of yours that you keep in the back of the drawer. Once your hands close around the case, you look up at Shaw, “We just have to be ready because we'll have to move quickly before they get it to one of their Samaritan facilities. If Samaritan gets the extra power, there's no way The Machine or any of us live.” You think about the words you just said while you open the case and extract your glasses. This is really _the_ do or die mission. If you don't get the processor, you're all as good as dead. It doesn't upset you as much as you probably think it should.

Once your glasses are on, you look to Shaw to see how she's taking it. As usual, she has a stone face, completely devoid of emotions.

You take a deep breath. Your craving for your narcotic of choice is subsiding. You start to feel a little more normal. You look up at Shaw, “Do you want me to go get you a steak?”

“What? For my last meal?” Shaw looks down at you, “Or are you just hungry?”

You grin, trying to make light of the dire situation. “Maybe a little of both.”

Shaw looks at the desk, moving a few papers around. She picks up a pen that's laying under the monitor and scribbles something down. She hands you the piece of paper. “This is what I want. Meet me back at my apartment. I have to get some things together here to take home so we can be ready.”

You look at the piece of scrap paper in your hand. You nod slowly. It's simple. Steak, mashed potatoes, green beans from Shaw's favorite steakhouse in the city. You stand up and grab your jacket. You take another laptop from Harold's stash. If you make it out of the mission, you'll replace it. If you don't, then it won't matter because he'll probably be dead too.

You pick up dinner and make your way to Shaw's apartment. She's already there, sitting at her kitchen table, loading magazines. You see a duffel bag full of guns at her feet. “Did you bring me anything?”

You ask it teasingly, but she points to the nightstand and you turn your gaze over four handguns, all loaded and ready for you. You move to the table and set the food down. After that, you take everything out and she cleans the weapons off of the table. Before you start eating, she holds out her hand.

You roll your eyes and place your wrist in her hand. She looks at her watch with her fingers on your pulse. You think she's being a little over thorough. She puts her watch hand down in her lap. She slowly pulls her hands away from yours, her fingers dragging slowly and unnecessarily across your skin, over your palms and down the tips of your fingers. You wonder if it was an accident or you imagined it.

Shaw opens her aluminum container and sees the steal. “Do you feel? Psychologically?”

This is quite a loaded question. You decide to joke your way out of it. “Those were murky waters to begin with.”

She raises her eyebrows for a second in agreement and turns to her food. She eats without speaking and you're content to follow her lead. Well you follow her lead as far as eating. You're not going to eat like she does. Even though she's dead, you can still hear your mom telling you to use your knife and fork.

You both eat until you're sated. Then you stretch your back, feeling full for the first time in weeks. You start to gather the trash and Shaw helps, putting the trash in the plastic bag it came in. She takes the bag from you, ties it up, and tosses it into the small wire bin in the corner of the room.

There isn't much to do in Shaw's apartment so you walk to the bed and sit down. You grab the laptop that you brought in and open it. It doesn't take you long to get the programs set up. Then you lay down. You can turn your head and see the screen flashing meaningless texts from the Samaritan team. You're really surprised that they haven't detected your worm yet. You suppose that the code The Machine had you shove up Samaritan's ass was enough to keep them busy or cripple their defenses enough that they haven't caught wind of it.

You look at the ceiling. It's very industrial with exposed ducts and beams. Something very unfinished and very Shaw about it.

“Tired?” Shaw flops down on the bed next to you.

“No,” you answer her. You're really not. You just find her bed really comfortable. Maybe it's more comforting than comfortable.

You look over at Shaw. She has one hand behind her head and is staring straight at the ceiling. She is the most strikingly beautiful people you've ever seen. Sometimes you forget that when she's being a helicopter doctor. You trace her face with your eyes.

She lulls her head over toward you, “What are you looking at?”

“The most beautiful woman I've ever met,” you grin coyly.

She looks back at the ceiling, “I swear, you are going to make me rethink that I'm about to do.”

Before you can ask what she's about to do, she swiftly rolls over holding herself up on top of you. She looks down at you, her eyes looking into yours, making sure that whatever is about to happen is okay with you.

You could never express in words just how okay you are with it. It's time to put up or shut up and your hands are already moving. They rest low on her hips, pressing into her skin and moving up. Your hands catch the bottom of her shirt and you feel her skin, hot like fire against your hands. You look at her face as your hands move toward her shoulders, pushing her shirt up. She's still looking at you, her eyes clouding over.

You pull her shirt over her head, one arms at a time. Then she ducks her head and you're considerate getting it over her head. It flies across the room because your hands have better things to do than to find somewhere nice for her shirt to go. You move your hands back to her skin. It's scarred from years in a dangerous job. You find the bumps under your fingers reassuring.

You pick your head up, your lips searching for hers. She pulls back a little just before your lips meet, teasing you. You grin, knowing how to play this game. You slip one of your legs between hers and bend it, using your hands on her hips to pull her down hard.

She exhales, her eyes fluttering closed. This time when you go for her lips, she doesn't move away. You love the way her lips feel against yours. You love how this time, you can feel her forcefully pushing you back into the bed, trying to dominate the kiss that is desperate and starving. One of her hands pushes up the front of your shirt, her own leg slipping between yours.

You arch into her, needing to feel more of her against you. Everything that has been building between the two of you – the flirting, the longing looks, the eye contact that went on a little too long, all of it is coming to a head. You can feel it moving through your body, waking up every nerve ending that you have.

You were never sure that you and Shaw would get to this point, two tangled bodies, sharing breaths. For the past few weeks you would have been happy just to see her alive. Before that you were just happy to be around her. It always felt like a privilege to you. To you, she's amazing in every way. She's a brilliant mind and a steady trigger finger. She's Athena, a goddess and a warrior. You don't know what it is about her that makes you think that, but you're surprised that people don't fall at her feet when she walks down the street.

When you taste her, it's like nirvana and when she follows your tongue and your fingers down a long slow path to release, you know you've seen the most beautiful thing that you ever will.

You don't stop until you're both exhausted and your muscles refuse to move. The sheet settles around your waist when you collapse onto your back. You look next to you and see Shaw on her stomach in the light of the streetlights in the window. You can see the scars from a life that most people couldn't handle living.

“Where is this from?” you lightly run your fingers over a short, thick scar just under Shaw's shoulder blade. It feels rough under your fingers where her skin tried to repair itself.

Shaw tucks her arms under her pillow and turns her head toward you, “Jumped out of a window in Novosibirsk.”

You trail your fingers down her back, a rather intimate gesture that you wouldn't do had the two of you not just spent hours exploring each other's bodies. You touch what you know is a gunshot wound, “This one is newer. Samaritan?”

She nods.

You move your fingers to her shoulder. You know where this one came from. You also know that she closed it up with duct tape and used a hostage for a blood transfusion. That's one of your favorite Shaw stories.

You inhale deeply, feeling that your body is more relaxed than it has been in years. You have a feeling that there could be a new addiction in your future that involves a naked Sameen.

You take your hand back and place it on your stomach. Again, you're looking at the ceiling, but this time it's not interrupted by a frisky Shaw. It's interrupted by a voice in your ear. You sit up, letting the sheet fall around your waist, “It's time.”

Shaw groans. You're sure she was close to sleep. You smile and stand from the bed. “Take your time. It's not like the fate of the world is on the line.” You grab your underwear and bra, then your pants. You borrow one of Shaw's black tank tops, then put your coat on over it. By the time you're pulling your boots on, Shaw is ready to go. You move to the nightstand. You tuck two of the handguns into the back of your pants and then place one in each coat pocket.

“Root,” Shaw calls you when you start to walk toward the door.

You turn around and she tosses you a water bottle. You catch it with a smile. “And here I was hoping for breakfast.”

“We'll get breakfast after we get the processor,” Shaw tells you. It's her own way of reassuring you that you're both going to make it out alive.

You call John and Harold on the way, “Hey boys. Wanna steal a quantum processor?”

Harold goes to the subway and John meets you and Shaw on the concrete boulevard on a relatively quiet street near the river.

“We going down?” Shaw asks you.

You nod, looking around. This is it. You steal the processor or you die trying. You feel for the gun in your right pocket. Shaw and Reese open the door to somewhere the Machine hasn't informed you about. She does tell you to go down the ladder first and you sink into the concrete foundation of the city. It gets dark as you go down, but you can see light below. You can hear subway cars moving around in the distance.

The Machine tells you to stop just before you can clearly see what's under you and Shaw nearly steps on your hand. You grab her ankle to stop her progress and you can hear her tell John to stop. You look up and the light above you is gone, telling you that John has closed the cover.

The roaring gets closer until you can see the bubbled side of the train whiz by under you. Once it's gone, the Machine tells you to keep moving. You quickly move down the ladder knowing that it's only a matter of time before another train flies by.

You drop onto a small platform next to the subway tracks. You look up and see Shaw look down before she drops. You put your hands out in case you need to stop her from falling onto the electrified rail, but as usual, she doesn't need any help so you tuck your hands into your pockets.

The Machine whispers in your ear and you turn around, walking away from Shaw and Reese, “This way. We have to hurry.”

You keep walking until you get to a door off of the subway tunnel. You listen for a moment and move to the keypad next to it. You type in the number that The Machine tells you. The door pops open. Before Shaw can open it, you put your foot in front of it so she can't. You pull out your guns and shrug off of your coat. You drop it on the walkway because you don't need it anymore.

You can feel Shaw looking at you, but you don't look back. You just pull open the door with a gun in your hand.

You fire the first shots. You're not aiming for kneecaps because this is the last battle in the war. You have both of your arms outstretched shooting before you even get a clear layout of the room in your head.

There are engineers in the room. You can see open champagne bottles and plastic cups in the concrete room. Stacks of paper are shoved off to the side because their work is done. The plastic tarps for the formerly sterile environment had been torn down. They have created the processor under the nose of the entire city.

The bullets start coming back your way and one hits you. It makes your body jerk back, but you keep shooting. Shaw and Reese are shooting too. All you hear is the rapid succession of bullets. They come faster and the individual sounds start to blend together into one long, terrible noise echoing off of the concrete walls.

You can barely hear Shaw yelling at Reese to look out, but you can hear the Machine. She says to hurry. You feel the slides on your guns click back into place and then pull out the ones from the back of your pants. You start pushing forward even though it's not particularly safe. You're still being shot at, but you have an advantage. Someone left their laptop open in the corner and The Machine can see. She's telling you where to shoot. One bullet per person, your arms moving independently of each other.

You feel blood running down your stomach. You can feel where you were shot. The more you move, the more the blood runs out.

You shoot your way deeper into the cave. When the last body drops you lower your guns. You can see where they're keeping it. The processor that is going to change the game. It's a small, very powerful refrigerator. You see a metal briefcase next to it. That was what it was meant to be transported in.

The Machine tells you how to remove it from the refrigerator and place it in the briefcase while Shaw and Reese disarm all the corpses. The processor is larger and more beautiful than you expected. It's the most powerful processor in the world and it was built in an active subway maintenance room.

You close the briefcase after gazing at the piece of art. You see the handcuff attached to the handle. When you hear what The Machine says, your mouth goes dry. Then you nod. You knew it was a possibility sooner or later.

“Shaw,” you call her to you. You hide the handcuff under your arm as you hand her the briefcase. Once she wraps her hand around the handle, you cuff her to it. It's titanium and you know there's not going to be a way for her to get it off anytime soon.

“This way,” you tell both of them, walking back the way you came from. You know there is another way in. It's past the refrigerator, hidden behind a tool shelf. It's a pocket door that you wouldn't have noticed had the Machine not told you that a team of heavily armed Samaritan are operatives running toward it from the other side. They had been monitoring their shady IT supervisor, knowing what she was doing, but deciding to let her finish and then swoop in to take the processor before she could sell it. The first gunshot set off an alarm they had a mole put in the room. You don't have much time.

You pause at the door that you walked in and after a train passes, you step out of the way so Shaw and Reese can step out. When you don't follow, Shaw stops, “Root?”

“Do not stop until that processor gets to Harold,” you look into her eyes, knowing that she needs to hear you, “If Samaritan gets a hold of that, it's all over.”

“What about you?” John asks, but by the look on his face, he already knows. You have to stay and buy them as much time as you can.

You look to him, “Make sure that she gets out of here. Don't let her stop. Get to Harold.”

“Root,” Shaw says, demanding your attention. She searches your face, but you know she's looking for an alternative to what she knows is the truth.

Your eyes cloud with tears. It really doesn't look good for you. But you can't think of a better day to have had before you….check out.

Her face turns hard and her voice shakes. She knows that you made sure she couldn't stay with you. She knows you gave her the processor so she had no choice, but to leave you behind She grabs the front of your shirt, pulling your close so that she can growl in your face. She enunciates each word slowly, “You better fucking come back.”

You blink. It wasn't a goodbye kiss. She wasn't going to give that to you. She's going to make you work for more kisses. You clench your jaw, the tears fading away. You nod just once, but you know she sees it.

The Machine breaks the moment, chirping in your ear. You take Shaw's hand off of your shirt and take a step back, “It's time to go.” You take another step back and close the heavy metal door between you.

You lean back on it and take a deep breath. You don't need to ask The Machine for your chance of survival. You know it's in the single digits. But if you were ever to survive anything against the odds – if you were to fight you way out of anything, you know it would be to get back to her.

The hidden door slams open and a stun grenade temporarily blinds you. You smile though. You don't need to see. You level your guns and start shooting.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The plane you stole was a little harder to land in a thunderstorm than you initially thought. Harold looks nauseous and John looks at you from the co-pilot's seat. He asks you with a blank stare if you've ever flown a plane before.

You bite back a retort. As a matter of fact you have flown a plane before. There was once when you were an operative for the government and one time you stole a jet to get to Anchorage with…. You swallow. With Root.

You check your phone as a shaky Harold opens the door to the plane. Still nothing. You shove your phone back into your pocket, following Harold out of the plane. You only have a threaten the small airport's manager with a gun once before he leaves you alone. You can't understand his language as he curses you, walking away.

You turn up the collar of your coat. You're not one hundred percent sure where you are. The Machine gave you coordinates and that was the extent of what she told you. You don't know how Root does it. Not knowing what she's supposed to do the second before you do it It would drive you crazy.

You look through the heavy rain back at the plane. It's stupid. She's not going to get off of the plane because she never got onto it. You shake your head at yourself and watch John's back while he hot wires a jeep. You look over at Harold, his hat pulled down over his brow, keeping the rain away from his glasses. He protects the metal case under his jacket.

You picked the lock on the briefcase cuff while you were waiting in John's safe house for instructions from The Machine. You started to leave to find Root when the Machine sent you the address to the airport hanger.

It took a while to get to the airport hanger and almost an hour for the terrified mechanic to fill up the small plane with fuel.

You look at the dark grey sky. It's cold and wet. You hate it. For someone who would rather be sweating on a beach, your career has been full of cold climates.

You hold your gun close, watching John, one knee on the foot rail of the jeep. You kick the bottom of his shoe, “Hurry up. I could have been done ten second ago.”

He looks over his shoulder at you as the jeep starts. Then he stands up. You get into the driver's seat because you need to be in control of _something_.

The Machine sends Harold a text. It's a number. You roll your eyes. You don't have time to save some poor sap who is about to be killed by a disgruntled employee or whatever that idiot is in danger of. But Harold tells you it probably has more to do with the processor than saving someone's life.

You follow his directions to a small town. You park in front of a hardware store and John gets out. You look around the sleepy town. The three are you are so out of place that there is no hope of keeping a low profile.

Apparently John speaks the language and he's back in the car a few minutes later. “The only place in town big enough to house something like that would be an old warehouse outside of town.”

You look around, “Which way?”

The drive is short and incredibly boring. Your trigger finger itches, but you know there's probably nothing, but families and farmers in this town. You wonder how the Machine snuck in all of her hardware. You stop your thoughts. You just called the Machine a 'her' in your brain. You shake your head at yourself. Root really got to you.

You look in your rearview mirror like she'll be standing there. Some miraculous escape turned into a teleportation to this foreign land. You shake your head at yourself again. Root _really did_ get to you.

You have to say that you're actually kind of excited the see it. The Machine in all it's glory. Of course it'll end up being a bunch of servers that could be pastry racks for all you know.

John opens the door to the warehouse that isn't guarded at all. You thought it would have more security. But maybe the presence of security would draw unwanted attention to it. The front corridor is empty and neglected. The white vinyl tiles are chipping and the air is musty. You don't get a good feeling walking in.

Harold hums uncomfortably. You know that means something is wrong. You take your gun out, keeping behind him so that you can watch his back while John leads the way.

When the door to the main warehouse opens, you all let out a collective breath. It's empty. There's not a thing inside of it, not even leftover cables. You walk past John and Harold deeper into the cavernous space. You kick at the ground. There's a film of dust that has to be years old. “No one has been here in a long time,” you tell Harold and John as you turn around.

Harold looks confused. He spins around taking in a three sixty view of the warehouse, “Where else could it be?”

You can feel your phone buzz in your pocket and hear John and Harold's phones buzz. You pull yours out. It's coordinates, but they're different than the ones you were given before. It's not a plane ride away anymore. You put the coordinates into your phone and find that it's a town over.

“Where is it?” you ask Harold as the three of you exit the warehouse.

“I don't know,” Harold answers, opening the door. He takes one uneven step out of the warehouse and stops.

“What?” John asks, slipping past him.

You move past Harold as well, gun in hand. However whatever danger there was has been terminated. There is a black SUV parked next to the jeep you stole. All four doors are open and the bodies of five obvious Samaritan operatives are on the ground.

You look at John. When he raises his eyebrows in question, you know what he's thinking. You're thinking the same thing too, but you won't say it out loud. You don't think logistically there is a way for your hunch to be possible.

You all pile back into the jeep and drive to the new coordinates. It leads to the middle of a field, but in the middle of the field is a massive metal door that's propped open with a metal rod. The rain has stopped and is dripping off of the rusty metal lid.

If the warehouse felt sketchy, this underground trap feels ten times worse. You step in first, following the spiral staircase down. There is no discussion. You just keep moving forward. You do like Root told you. You don't stop.

Your gun is pointed in front of you as you near the bottom. You look up and see that you have to be at least six stories underground. The stairs end at an old rusted metal door. It's cracked open already. You look back at John to make sure he's ready for a tactical entry. He nods to you and you both moves swiftly through the door, guns first.

However, you find that that was unnecessary. There are people walking around, paying no mind to you. They're all in lab coats, milling about with tablets in their hands.

The oldest person in the room walks up to you. He's wearing a blue shirt and tells you in heavily accented English, “You'll have to leave your guns with me.”

You look at John and then to Harold. Harold scans the room. He looks at the computer terminals and the white double doors on the other side of the room. Everything looks brand new. The young scientists laugh together before turning back to their work. It's all too weird.

“This has to be it,” Harold finally breathes out. “It used to be an abandoned cold war bunker didn't it?” He looks to the guard who smiles and nods. Harold continues, “There's a nuclear generator here?”

“Only a few years old,” the guard proudly tells you. He holds out his hands, “Guns please.”

You and John look at Harold who nods. He has a kind of euphoric smile on his face. He takes off walking without you toward the double doors.

You quickly follow him and stop with him at the double doors. He looks down, gathering himself. You're curious about what is on the other side of the doors. You're sure it's supposed to be The Machine or part of the Machine or whatever. You just want to jam that new processor into it and get the hell back to New York.

Harold takes in a shaky breath and opens the door. There's another white corridor, a room slightly larger than the last with a single desk in it. Sitting on that desk is a face you weren't sure you were sure you were ever going to see again.

She grins at you and only you, holding your eyes, “Hey Sweetie.”

Your shoulders relax. You can feel the rest of the muscles in your body loosening. Her arm is in a sling and she visibly winces when she slides off of the desk. She moves stiffly to the three of you.

“You took out those operatives at the first warehouse,” you state instead of ask because you already know she did.

She just smiles in a reply. You smile back a little bit. You're glad she's okay and she's here. It wouldn't seem right to see The Machine without her.

Harold asks curiously, “Did you go inside yet?”

Root shakes her head, her face completely beaming, “I didn't think it would be fair to go in without the team.”

“How did you get here so fast?” John asks.

Her smile turns coy, “I broke a few international laws. And some local laws.” Root starts moving toward the doors, joy all over her face. She leans back on the double doors that will lead the four of you to The Machine. She bites her lip and looks you over. You take off your coat, showing her that you're unharmed. You nod toward her sling. She just shrugs. You're sure she'll let you look at it later, but right now you're going to let her do something that she's wanted to do for years.

She grins giddily. She takes a deep audible breath. Her eyes bounce from John to Harold to you. Although this is a moment Harold is going to appreciate the most out of the three of you, she's looking at you. Its a monumental moment in her life and she wants to share it with you. She pushes back on the door, the latch clicking open. Her eyes sparkle when she asks, “Are you ready to meet God?”


End file.
